From someone else's diary

I escaped the barracks of my perfect self and for the first time in my life I started living.
I played hide and seek in marijuana fields before traveling back into the time when my parents lived.
I sailed through an ocean of blood shed by brave men and in that way I felt braver.
I made a fool out of myself by being madly in love time and again.
I wept for friends whom I lost.
But I never did anything. I never spoke out.
I ran away from everything. And I just let it be. For life happens. So does love.
Could I have made a difference?

I have been running for a long time, with no direction, absolutely clueless. I have felt better that way.
But it dawned upon me suddenly I am tired of all the running. I need to sit down. I need a direction. I need to change things.
I need to make a difference.

For life is about making a difference.
And love?

The Ghost Of Him.

As a little boy he would write ghost stories. Stories of bloodsucking vampires and zombies, how they would prey on helpless people. He wrote about them because he despised them, he was scared of them.
He doesn’t write about them anymore.

He only writes about his own self.

The Winds are Whispering.

The winds are whispering.
I hope they will whisper my words.
Words of love and poetry,
Promises of a lifetime.

I hope they will whisper
The truth.

I hope they will carry my words beyond the horizon,
Into that distant land where she belongs.
Beyond the rivers and the mountains
Into the far west.
And silently
They will whisper my words into her soul.

It rained for the first time.

The rain comes every year.
So does the summer and the winter.
But I don’t know why every time it rains
It reminds me of my childhood,
Of my parents, my brothers,
Our tiny little cats..
Of That dusty little apartment above the garage.
It reminds me of a time when life was holy,
When we had each other.

To you the rain is us,
To them its the change.
To me it’s a passage to the past
And to some ,
Tears from
Another heaven.